


Assorted Flavours

by bookjunkiecat



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Asexual Character, Bisexual Female Character, Bisexual Male Character, Coming Out, Cuddling, F/F, F/M, Femslash February, Flowers, Gay Male Character, Lesbian Character, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Misunderstandings, New Beginnings, Other, Romance, Romantic Tropes, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Worth Issues, Unambiguous Happy Endings, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day 2019, no rosie, relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 12:38:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17787563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookjunkiecat/pseuds/bookjunkiecat
Summary: Sometimes on an over-hyped day of romance, expectation falls short of reality. And sometimes we flip reality on it's head and find happiness with both hands. Follow Greg, Mycroft, Sally, Anthea, John, Sherlock, Mike Stamford and Molly on their romantic journeys.





	1. Mystrade- Misunderstanding

**Author's Note:**

> Greg and Mycroft have been in a secret relationship for a few years. Greg is fine with it. He IS. Except sometimes he feels neglected. Mycroft goes about rectifying that.

Greg was feeling rebellious. He wore his favourite lavender tie to work. It was his favourite despite the fact that he'd never worn it in public before. The tie was the most beautiful accessory he'd ever owned, real silk, with a rich, subtle sheen and an invisible polka dot pattern. The thing practically screamed, “He can't afford me!” Not to mention, “I'm wildly above his pay grade and definitely too high class for him.”

 

Greg wore it anyway. It made his mid-grey suit and pale blue shirt look great. Before he’d even made it all the ways up the lifts he regretted wearing it. He’d always dreamed of wearing it someplace special,  _ with _ someone special. Not to another Thursday at the office.

 

Since he'd already worn a flashy tie (well, completely not flashy and thus terribly noticeable on him), he said to hell with it. So Greg dabbed on some of the designer cologne he'd gotten for Christmas. It was expensive as hell and it smelled like it. He turned himself on a little. 

 

“Boss,” Donovan whistled, giving him a cheeky once over, “You on the pull?”

 

“No,” he said shortly. Which was really unfair since she hadn't done anything wrong and he was coming close to taking his frustration out on her. Tempering his tone, Greg managed a smile, “Just thought I'd make a bit of effort for once.”

 

“Is it court day and I missed the memo?” Dimmock joked, passing by Greg's office as he fumbled to unlock his door. 

 

Greg bit back a sharp retort and chuckled, not answering. Donovan tipped her head to one side, considering him. “What?” he finally asked in exasperation, a reluctant smile tugging at his mouth. Donovan could be nosy as hell, but his Sargeant cared, he knew that. Nice to have someone care, he reflected moodily. 

 

“What's wrong?” She crossed her arms, “You're generally in a pretty good mood, but the past few years, every time the holidays come around, you get…moody.” Her expression changed suddenly, a horrified look of comprehension gripping her features. “You haven't taken Felicity back, have you?”

 

“What?” Greg almost dropped his coffee. “God no!”

 

She didn't look appeased. “You've been really happy and sort of...secretive in the last year or two. Ever since she moved back to London.”

 

“With her husband,” Greg pointed out dryly. 

 

“You could be the other woman.” Donovan followed him through the door as he snapped on the lights and set his things down on his desk. 

 

“Not likely,” Greg joked, deflecting. “I look terrible in a garter belt.”

 

Donovan narrowed her eyes, “You only get all, all  _ emo _ like this when the holidays roll around. Like you've suddenly been abandoned. Cuz she's gone back to her husband and their kids, maybe.”

 

“Sal,” Greg said, radiating sincerity, “I swear to you I'm not having an affair with Felicity.” Shedding his overcoat he sat down in his chair and powered up his desktop. “Now can I get on with it?” He leveled a stern look at her, “And might I suggest you do the same?”

 

Thoroughly unimpressed, she shook her head at him and returned to her desk. 

 

Putting his head down and ignoring his silent mobile and the flower arrangements, candy boxes, stuffed animals and shiny balloons he could see festooning the desks in the bullpen, Greg got on with it. He was so focused on work--and _ only work, _ thank you very much--that he blazed through a good quarter of his inbox by the time ten o'clock rolled around. Picking up his empty mug, Greg made his way toward the break room, only to arrive and find it busier than usual. 

 

“Good timing, boss,” Donovan greeted him, emerging from the room, a cup of coffee and several fat donuts balanced on top of a Manila folder. “Someone's sweetie loves them…gourmet coffee and loads of posh donuts just got delivered.”

 

“Really?” Greg's ears perked up. He loved donuts, and any coffee besides the usual break room fare was fine by him. He queued up and soon found himself back at his desk, a fragrant cup of kona single origin steaming on his blotter. He'd already taken a wolfish bite of a raspberry filled donut, and there was a fat maple bacon eclair and a croissant oozing churro-cheesecake filling. The treats were really great and some poor chump had missed major bragging rights by sending it anonymously. 

 

The sugar and caffeine lifted his spirits, and Greg thought maybe he'd been too harsh with Mike. He knew he was important to him, knew Mike loved him, even if he'd never said as much. It was just…after a string of relationships where he'd always seemed to end up second choice, or the unwitting cuckold, not to mention his disastrous marriage… Greg had gotten paranoid. They'd been together three years, and no one aside from Anthea or Sherlock even bloody knew. 

 

Greg didn't need a big public display, but God, he'd like to be acknowledged. Recognized as important to Mike. Maybe have a tiny bit of fuss made. Just a tiny one. So he could point with pride at the physical representation of Mike's regard and say proudly, “Yeah, came from my boyfriend.”

 

Instead he was a secret. Sometimes he felt like a dirty secret. Which wasn't fair, but...just once he'd like to have Mike look at him in front of others the way he did when they were alone. 

 

Still…it was Valentine's day and he'd said some pretty harsh things last night in his texts. Greg bit his lip, guilt overwhelming him. He knew how sensitive Mike was to criticism when it came to personal matters like this. He was Mike's first boyfriend and perhaps it was unfair of him to abandon a lifetime of privacy and circumspection so soon.

 

Picking up his mobile, Greg flicked quickly through the apps to his messaging. The last message from Mike was still there.  _ Of course I’ll respect your wish for no messages...although I assure you I wasn’t trying to pressure you. I just wanted to say that I hope you have a wonderful day, darling. Please forgive me for last night.  _

 

Eyes blurring, Greg tapped out a reply, fingers flying.  _ I'm sorry I was an arse last night. You don't need to apologize, sunshine. Hope your day is fantastic and I can't wait to see you tonight.  _

 

The ellipses indicating a response was being typed popped up immediately, and he sighed, food abandoned. The message stopped and started several times. Finally,  _ I have much to apologize for, actually. I hope the pastries were an acceptable beginning? xoxo _

 

_ Holy shit, that was you?! Mike, you daft bugger, you didn't need to treat the whole office.  _

 

_ Thanks though...they're great and the coffees top notch XOXOXO _

 

Beaming at his phone, mood lifting, Greg shook his head. God, trust Mike to go overboard.  _ Love you, sunshine. Love you bunches.  _

 

The reply was immediate.  _ Believe it or not, I chose the pastries personally. I'm glad they pleased.  _

 

_ You went into Pret?!  _ Greg sent a silly face and laughed at the swift text he received. 

 

_ Not physically, no. But I consulted the menu and made my choices with you in mind. Anthea's price for, and I quote, “Running your bloody mooncalf errands,” was her own box of pastries and my sworn promise that she would be off before tea time.  _

 

_ I do believe, darling, that she has finally summoned the courage to do it. And BEFORE summer. I win. _

 

_ Smug bastard,  _ Greg typed back,  _ alright, we did agree. This weekend then, I'm yours for whatever dirty things you want me to do.  _

 

_ I've compiled a list.  _

 

_ Oh? ;)  _

 

_ Clean the attic, power wash the bins, haul donations to Oxfam, vacuum out the Jag. For starters.  _

 

_ Funny man.  _

 

_ I try.  _

 

_ I had something else in mind ;)  _

 

_ Oh? Don't leave me in suspense.  _

 

_ I'll give you a hint: it involves you, me and lots of sweating.  _

 

_ Calisthenics?  _

 

_ Close…  _

 

_ Painting the garden shed?  _

 

_ Think more indoors ;)  _

 

_ Hmm, however shall I figure it out? Perhaps we need to meet for lunch and discuss these plans.  _

 

_ Sure, the Diogenes?  _

 

_ I was thinking I'd pick you up and we could go to that odd American barbeque place you enjoy.  _

 

_ Lunch in public?  _ Greg finally asked, gathering his courage after staring at his phone for too long.  _ And BBQ at that? You don't have to apologize any more, Mike. Told you I'm sorry I was being a brat.  _

 

_ I rather thought you could introduce me to your colleagues and then I could take you out someplace you like. _

 

_ As one does with one's boyfriend on Valentine's Day.  _

 

Holy shit, this was momentous. Greg dropped his phone long enough to rub rough hands over his face and recklessly up into his neatly coiffed hair. Picking up his phone with hands that shook with joy and nerves, he tapped out his reply, smiling ear to ear. 

 

Two and a half hours later, he walked across the bullpen as if on air, grin huge, eyes brilliant with love. His boyfriend looked up from where he was making polite conversation with Donovan and an answering smile lit his normally inscrutable public face. Donovan looked a bit startled, and glanced behind her to see what had grabbed the attention of the hard to impress Mycroft Holmes. Her expression when she saw Greg walking with purpose across the room, smiling hugely, looking at the other man with sparkling eyes was priceless. “Alright, boss?” she managed after a second's pause. 

 

Greg smiled, “Think you can hold the fort, Sal? M'boyfriend's taking me to lunch. I'll let you go early, alright?” Glancing at Mike with a mischievous smile, he added, “Say about four o’clock?”


	2. Salthea- Resetting Expectations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sally Donovan is tired of being disappointed in love, she's going to get a cat. Before she knows it, however, she has a chance at finding something else new in her life.

Greg was as good as his word. At four on the dot Sally found herself being chivvied out the door. She felt a bit guilty. The boss had just come out and announced his relationship all on one momentous day and it was Valentine's after all…She should be shooing him away early. Greg would hear none of it though; he promised he'd finish up and be gone by five.

“Big plans at a swanky bistro?” Sally’d teased, genuinely pleased for him. Greg was due some happiness in his life.

Greg’s eyes shone, “Nope. I told him to cancel ‘em. I’m making him dinner and then shaggin’ him silly.”

“Oi, boss.” Sally had shoved him lightly, “That’s sexual harassment, making me imagine your ancient arse.” But she’d grinned at him, and he’d gone away still smiling. Ebullient and almost insufferably aglow with love following his lunch, he'd thrown himself into work. She wasn't sure if it was to avoid the buzz of gossip and speculation that had broken out after his very public declaration, or the fact that he was in a hurry to go home and spend time with his boyfriend. Probably both.

God, she was twenty years younger and easily twice as cool as Greg, and yet she was going home alone. Off early on the most romantic day of the year and what did she have to look forward to? Nothing. Not even a cat waiting for her, because she was hardly home and her life was so sad she couldn't even expose a cat to it.

 _So what are you going to do then?_ Sally asked challengingly, pausing at the front doors of the Met and shoving her hands in her pockets. The sensible thing to do would be to take the Tube home, have a quiet ready meal in front of the telly and get to bed early for once. _God, when did I get so old and boring?_ But really, what was she going to do? Certainly not hit a club and seek out a one night stand. Her friends were all in relationships and would have plans for the night. She supposed she could swing by Sarah and David's and see if they wanted her to take the kids to McDonald's. They'd probably appreciate a break, Sarah especially. Sally's twin had married early and produced four great kids. Noisy and sometimes annoying as shit, but great. As a result she and her husband of twelve years rarely got out alone.

It felt sad to do that though. Mostly because her sister's full life would highlight just how empty hers had grown. It wasn’t that Sally wanted a husband and kids, not at all. She would like someone to belong to, however. Someone who was glad to see her when she came home. _Really oughta get that cat_ , Sally thought in bitter amusement.

“Sergeant Donovan?” Called a cool, cultured voice. Sally turned from where she'd been standing in the pavement, lost in thought. Despite recognizing the voice, she was still surprised to see Mycroft Holmes’ impeccable PA, Anthea. The other woman was standing in the open door of one of her ubiquitous black sedan cars. “Might I offer you a lift?”

“Um,” Sally blinked at her, a bit lost. “That's--”

“Home, perhaps?” Anthea, usually so self-possessed she was nearly robotic, fidgeted slightly. Her lovely, light blue eyes were wide, as if fighting nerves, which surely couldn’t be the case, “Or…to dinner?” She breathed in, looked more confident and more like her usual self, “I can get us into any restaurant in the city.”

“Are you having me on?” Sally asked suspiciously, glancing around, looking for hidden cameras. The woman was asking her to dinner on Valentine’s day, offering up any impossible-to-attain restaurant like a knight presenting a dragon’s hide to a lady. This couldn’t be real. A thought occurred to her, “Oh, is this something to do with your boss? They're going out for dinner and you want me to help you run surveillance on them?” Made sense, plenty of enemies littered both men’s pasts, no doubt. Professional hazard and all that.

Clearly at a loss for words, Anthea blinked at her for a long moment. Finally she cleared her throat, “I…I'm asking you out. For dinner. You and I…just the two of us. For purely personal reasons.”

It was Sally's turn to stare blankly. “Like…a date?” Shit, this gorgeous, posh, clever, well-dressed woman was asking her, Sally “Disaster” Donovan, out on a date. On the most romantic night of the year? Had she received a blow to the head? Things like this didn’t happen to her.

“Well…yes.”

Sally thought about it. She thought about youth and impulse and longing. She thought about excitement and experimentation and settling. About disappointment and doubt and regret. Expectations tangled up in reality, bumping against bitterness and eagerness and avoiding old habits.

“No,” she said, and was surprised at the depth of disappointment on Anthea's face. It gave her the courage to keep going. “I can't think of anything worse than a first date on Valentine's day, out at a crowded restaurant. Sitting there surrounded by all that forced romance and weighed down by worry and anticipation and all the expectation for it to go well against the probable reality that it won’t half measure up to some fantasy.” Sally walked across the pavement and put her hand on Anthea's arm, letting her fingers slide down to touch the warm, perfumed skin of her wrist. “Sounds like hell to me. But...if you'd like to dismiss your driver and join me, I'm going to go adopt a cat and then I thought I'd-- _we_ could pick up a curry on the way to mine.” She smiled shyly, “Or Thai, or a pizza if you'd prefer?”

In answer, Anthea leaned in the car to address the driver, then closed the door. She watched it pull away, then looked at Sally, smiling a nice smile, eyes bright and hopeful. “The rescue where I got my cats isn't far from here…we can discuss where to pick up dinner on the way.” She held out a tiny pink box, with a clear window in the lid. Inside, nestled in a fluted paper cup, was a blush pink macaron. “I...hope it’s not unwanted.”

Sally looked up into her hopeful eyes and smiled, “No,” she disagreed softly, taking the box and letting her fingers stroke lightly over Anthea’s palm, “Not unwanted at all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In what Greg terms the slowest courtship in recorded history, Sally and Anthea date for months and months before they finally sleep together. It's not that Sally didn't *want* to. She just wanted to finally find out what it was like to be in love, to be cherished, to hold herself to high worth and feel valued. Two years later Greg was her maid of honour at Sally and Anthea's wedding. They have five cats and are fostering a sixth.


	3. Johnlock- Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is thrilled with his relationship with Sherlock, and arrives home eager to give him a little something for Valentne's Day and then spend it being romantic. Sherlock has a surprise for him, however...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is unambiguously asexual. He and John have a very fulfilling relationship which does not involve sex.

John was in a fantastic mood. It was coming up on he and Sherlock’s one year anniversary, it was a chilly day, but the sun was shining, and he had a little Valentine’s surprise for his boyfriend. But first…

“Oh, John, dear!” Mrs Hudson smiled at him as he held out the armful of yellow jonquils and tiny purple and yellow violets. “How sweet of you!”

“I know you said once jonquils were your favourite flower…” John smiled at her, giving her tiny frame a gentle hug and relishing the kiss on the cheek. “Just wanted to make you smile, say thank you for all you do for two ungrateful bachelors.”

She fussed at him, turning to take her flowers and arrange them in a vase. “You’re not ungrateful at all.” A twinkling smile, “Not a bachelor any longer, either.” That last fact gave her almost more joy than it did the two men in question.

“Nope.” John grinned, putting one hand in his pocket, where he’d stashed his surprise for Sherlock. “I’m off to see him now...is he in or has he hared off somewhere?”

“He’s upstairs,” Martha Hudson’s face held secret knowledge, “I think he was waiting for you to come home. Best not keep him waiting.”

“Right you are then,” John gave her another kiss, “I thought maybe Sherlock and I could take you to lunch, are you free?”

“You don’t want to waste time today on an old lady. It’s a day for lovers.”

“You’re in your prime,” John said gallantly, “and we’d love to have lunch with you...we love you.” Besides, John had dinner plans for him and Sherlock that evening, at Angelo’s. Angelo had a very impressive RESERVED sign on “their” table already, and had promised there would be a surfeit of candles, and the champagne was already on ice.

Securing her promise to join them for lunch, “Anywhere you like,” John promised grandly, he jogged up the stairs, eager to see Sherlock. Opening the flat door he was greeted with the soft sounds of violin--Sherlock’s violin, but playing from his docked phone. There was a fire burning low in the grate, and several candles in tall glass hurricane jars (obviously new) flickered on the tables. John’s steps slowed, surprise and pleasure washing over him. “Sherlock?” He called curiously, hanging up his jacket, “What’s this?”

“I’ve a surprise for you, John,” Sherlock’s voice, more velvet-clad and seductive than usual, sounded from the bedroom; John’s eyebrows rose in surprise. Normally Sherlock didn’t try to charm or seduce him, but this was a tone of deliberate sensuality. John walked to the doorway of Sherlock’s bedroom and stopped cold, eyebrows now nearly in his hairline.

The room was lit by the bedside lamps, both of which had red cloths draped over them, and by the tiny points of light of at least two dozen votive candles glowing from red glass cups. Instead of Sherlock’s usual sage green and stone grey striped duvet, the bed was spread with a black comforter. Against which scattered red rose petals and the long white limbs of a very naked Sherlock lounged.

Ignoring the instinctual punch of desire in his gut, John cleared his throat. “What, uh, what’s all this?”

Sherlock, who was definitely acting weird--he didn’t even point out that it was obvious--smiled slowly, “Happy Valentine’s Day, John.” He drew one foot up to rest flat on the bed, thighs lolling apart, as he leaned on his elbow, other hand idling over his chest. “I’ve decided it’s time we make love John.” He patted the bed, “Come join me.”

John crossed his arms over his chest, ignoring the leap in his pulse, “What are you up to?”

Sherlock looked briefly confused, “Isn’t it o--I’m, I’m saying John that it’s time we make love.”

“Yeah, you said that.” John tilted his head, “Doesn’t explain why you’re doing this. I told you before, love, I don’t expect sex from you.”

Sherlock looked frustrated and annoyed, and a tiny bit worried. “But you must, John.”

“Why must I?” John, wanting to soothe Sherlock's obvious agitation, abandoned his position in the doorway and came to sit on the edge of the mattress. Leaning on one arm, he let his other hand reach for Sherlock. Ignoring the look of mingled triumph and anxiety, he leaned over him and efficiently flipped the edge of the comforter over him. Pressing a soft kiss to the corner of that lush mouth, John murmured, “It’s a bit cold in here.” He smiled against Sherlock’s cheek until he felt the minute bit of tension leave his body. Turning his head, he kissed him, soft and deep and passionately. Kissing Sherlock was like kissing no one else on earth. Every bit of focus, passion and curiosity he possessed was poured into each kiss. In ten months of dating, John had never once received an absent-minded or careless kiss from his boyfriend. It was incredible, being the focus of such an amazing man.

“Now,” he exhaled, a long time later, having kicked off his shoes and joined Sherlock fully on the bed. “Want to tell me why you decided that I apparently expect sex and that today was the day to give it to me?”

Sherlock turned his head on the pillow, curls splaying; his clear eyes were troubled, and he worried at his bottom lip with his teeth. John stopped the motion with his thumb, stroking it lightly over his soft bottom lip and then trailing his caress over Sherlock’s glass-smooth jaw. “You’re a sexual creature, John.” His eyes widened, and he hurried on, “That wasn’t an accusation or complaint, most men are.”

“You’re not though,” John said calmly, tucking one arm under his head, the other still lightly threading through Sherlock’s curls. The slight droop of Sherlock’s lids told him it had just as much affect on him as it ever did. Smiling, he continued the scalp massage. “Like that, love?”

“Yes,” Sherlock murmured, closing his eyes briefly. A smile touched his lips, and John’s heart squeezed painfully. God, he loved this man so much. Sherlock’s eyes opened again, troubled, “It’s--it’s not enough though, John.”

“It is for me,” John said simply, sincerely. “Is it for you?” Seeing him hesitate, he prodded gently, “Honesty...remember, Sherlock?”

A sigh trembled on Sherlock’s lips, and he finally nodded. “You’re more than enough for me, John. I’m--I’m so,” his voice dropped shyly, “I’m so happy with you.”

Eyes threatening tears, John moved to cradle his jaw in both hands, pressing soft kisses on him, breathing in his damp, quavering breaths and pouring out his tremendous love. Slowly Sherlock softened, relaxing into the mattress, muscles loose, embrace warm and close. He sipped at John’s lips, nibbling delicately, running light fingers up his back and over the sensitive nape of John’s neck. John shivered as Sherlock traced patterns over his hairline, and felt those beloved lips curve in a smile. Eventually they parted, breathing deeply, eyes locked.

“I was trying to be romantic,” Sherlock said in a low voice, passing the back of his knuckles over John’s jaw, “I know how much value you put on holidays and special occasions, John. I wanted to make it special for you.”

John was forced to swallow hard and take a moment before he could speak; when he did, his voice was rough with emotion and soaked with love, “Sherlock Holmes, you’re the most secretly romantic man I know, and you make things special for me all the time.” He held his gaze, letting sincerity and love pour out of him, “Sex doesn’t equate romance, and it’s not going to give me anything I’m missing...am I a physical guy? Yeah. I get turned on by you. But I don’t feel like I’m missing out on anything-- _anything_ , you understand?” He kissed Sherlock’s damp lids, feeling the flutter of his lashes, and tipped his forehead against Sherlock’s, “Give me your love and your thoughts, your loyalty and honesty and all the mad, wonderful adventures I can stand. I want late nights and Chinese food, jokes and long showers when you slip in and wash my hair and --and _years_ together...I don’t need anything else.”

“Oh John,” Sherlock finally breathed, eyes screwed tightly shut, face glowing. He hugged him tightly, pulling John impossibly close, “I’ll give you all of that, all of it, for as long as you want it.”

“Forever, then,” John assured him hoarsely, feeling his chest hitch as he struggled with emotion.

“Forever,” Sherlock vowed, kissing him with fierce promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For any of you interested, John's gift to Sherlock is an anatomically correct dark chocolate heart with a glace cherry center. Sherlock is delighted with it and refuses to share. John steals cherry-chocolate kisses from his lips and they forget all about candy.
> 
> John wasn't lying when he told Sherlock he didn't expect or need sex. They know what works for them, and they go on caring for one another with scalp massages, and washing one another's back in the shower, making cups of tea, and steering the other to bed when they've been up too late hunched over a microscope (although that last one is just Sherlock).


	4. Hoopford- Happily Ever After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Born romantic Mike Stamford learned the hard way that in this cynical world, his courtly manners and sweet heart push women away. That was, until he met Molly Hooper. While he worries over whether she'll be settling if they ever make it official, Molly has a surprise for him...

The intimate little Italian restaurant looked like a scene out of one of the rom-coms Molly loved. Dim, rose-shaded lamps, low candles sparkling in prismed votives, snowy tablecloths and rose-pink napkins. Every table held a low bowl of floating roses, but Mike had gone all out and ordered in a bud vase with a slender creamy white rose for each year they had been together. Molly wore a dainty wrist corsage of baby pink roses, baby’s breath and delicate sprays of fragrant lavender on a pearl beaded wristlet. She kept stealing glances at it and smiling, and Mike fell in love with her all over again, seeing how happy she was.

She looked up at him with her big, brown eyes, sweet as chocolate and as kind as a child’s, reaching out for his hand across the small table, “Everything’s so lovely, Mike,” Molly said softly, a smile playing about her pink-glossed lips, deep dimples flickering. “You’re such a sweetheart, I don’t deserve you.”

“I don’t deserve you,” Mike rebutted. It was an old refrain, almost a joke by now, but he still meant every word. “More champagne, pet?”

“Please,” Molly held out her glass, “I’ve probably had enough, but it’s only Valentine’s Day once a year, right?”

 _Every day is Valentine’s Day with you_ , Mike wanted to say. Hesitating, he flushed as he remembered an awkward, heart-felt, overly enthusiastic youth, the shy, romantic teenager and young man he’d been. His quietly yearning adulthood, just longing for someone who lit up when they saw him, who welcomed his every sweet word and kind gesture. His parents had been the type of lovey-dovey couple that others teased while secretly envying. Foolish Mike had thought every relationship was like that, until bitter experience taught him otherwise. He’d spent years being “too clingy,” “too effusive,” “too sappy,” according to the other women he’d dated. His warm, impulsive, loving nature had grown guarded, and he’d bitten his tongue on praise, pet names and compliments.

Molly wasn’t like that though, he reminded himself; she adored romantic movies, and love songs. Her favourite colour was any shade of pink, hearts were doodled on her grocery list, her notepad at work, and often on her memos. Molly had framed black and white images of famous love scenes from old movies on her bedroom walls, and her bookcases groaned with well-thumbed bodice rippers and classic love stories, jostling for space with stacks of DVDs, nearly all on the theme of love. Some of them dark, Mike admitted with a grin, because his Molly had a very macabre bent, which he also loved about her. “Every day is Valentine’s Day with you, Molly,” he said now, and watched her glow like a chandelier. Molly was so easy to love, and to be loved by.

“For me too, Mike,” Molly confessed, squeezing his hand in hers. They sat back, blushing, when the waiter appeared with their dessert. Smiling, he delivered their plate and two forks with a flourish and inquired if they wanted coffee, or perhaps a glass of port? “Nothing for me,” Mike said. “Darling?”

“Share a decaf coffee with me?” Molly asked hopefully. He assured her that of course he would, as they had both known was inevitable. After three and a half years Mike still did everything he could to make her happy, including sharing coffees and desserts and holding an umbrella over her head in the rain. Mike ignored the rich chocolate gateau and stared at her, so petite and lovely in her lacy tan and blush dress, the diamonds he’d given her for her birthday sparkling at her ears. He wondered if he’d ever get up the courage to offer her another type of diamond. Despite knowing how she loved him, Mike still had a small kernel of doubt.

In his darker moments he wondered if she’d want to spend the rest of her life with him. She could do so much better, find a better, smarter, more assured man. Someone good-looking and confident, a wealthier, more well-known doctor. It wasn’t fair to tie her to him when she could well look around one day and discover all that she’d been missing. Molly would move on, her life all the better. Mike wouldn’t survive, he knew it. Molly was...Molly was everything. The woman of his dreams, sweet, kind, funny, smart and softly wicked, full of surprises and small joys.

Surprising him yet again, Molly put down her untouched bite of cake and pushed back her chair. He started to rise, but she motioned him to stay put. Immediately Mike’s heart began booming as he watched her go down on one knee, pulling out a black velvet ring box with a well-deserved flourish. Mike hadn’t even seen her pull it from wherever it had been hiding. He couldn’t have been more stunned if she’d climbed on the table and begun singing. “Molly…” he breathed, unable to believe his eyes, wondering if his new glasses were playing tricks on him.

Lips trembling with nerves and emotion, brown eyes steady, already welling with tears, Molly opened the box, revealing a wide band of platinum and brushed black metal. “Michael Anthony Stamford,” she whispered, voice shaking with pending tears, “will you do me the very g-great honour of marrying me?”

Not even aware of the glances they were drawing, the smiles and nudges circling the room, the waiter standing a little ways away with a cup of coffee and a rapt expression, Mike took her hands and drew her willingly into his lap. To a soft chorus of awwws, he hugged her tightly, kissing her with restrained passion, as neither of them were particularly fond of public displays. “Yes, petal,” he murmured fervently against the ecstatic curve of her lips, “of course it’s yes.” Drawing back, Mike wasn’t a bit ashamed of the tears escaping his eyes, “I love you, Molly. I’d be proud to be your husband and partner.”

Unable to take their eyes away from one another, Molly pulled the ring out of the box and slid it on Mike’s finger. It fit perfectly, and as it nestled into place, Mike felt his heart expand. Finally, he fit perfectly with someone; he’d found his happily ever after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, Mike and Molly take their dessert to go, and back at his flat they put on old records and dance until they're lost in a haze of happiness. Mike throws himself into planning the most beautiful romantic wedding he can imagine, and on the day Molly walks down the aisle towards him, he cries unabashedly. They're one of those couples everyone makes fun of and secretly envies.

**Author's Note:**

> Greg never even gets as far as making dinner for the two of them. After far too much lovemaking, they finally order a heart-shaped pizza and a large tray of chocolate chunk brownies. Mycroft doesn't even quibble about the calories.


End file.
